


Way Down In The Hole

by feathers_and_cigarettes



Category: Daredevil (TV), Marvel, Marvel 616, Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: Angst, Cemeteries, Established Relationship, Fratt - Freeform, FrattWeek, Hurt/Comfort, M/M, Matt's just having an existential crisis in a graveyard, References to Drugs
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-02
Updated: 2020-11-02
Packaged: 2021-03-08 23:29:25
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 901
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27341251
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/feathers_and_cigarettes/pseuds/feathers_and_cigarettes
Summary: “I can see the souls that linger here, their sins. Frank, I can see God.”
Relationships: Frank Castle/Matt Murdock
Comments: 5
Kudos: 37
Collections: Fratt Week





	Way Down In The Hole

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Harishe](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Harishe/gifts).



> For [FrattWeek's](http://frattweek.tumblr.com) prompt: Grave. 
> 
> Check out the art that inspired this fic by Harishe: [here!](https://harishe-art.tumblr.com/post/633054746344931328/i-did-this-for-frattweek-todays-prompt-is)
> 
> I got to use a Tom Waits song as a title FUCKING FINALLY.

“Here; put me down here. I can walk, dammit.”

Frank groans and shifts Matt’s weight in his arms. His knee protests as he crouches to set Matt down against a headstone. It’s a parody of that night long ago in a different cemetery, the night Matt had saved Frank from the Irish and wormed his annoying way into Frank’s heart and soul.

“You shouldn’t be walking,” Frank retorts, automatically checking Matt over for wounds other than the gaping shotgun blast in his shoulder. “I don’t know what the fuck they dosed you with and I saw you walk straight into a goddamned wall.”

Matt squirms away from Frank, hissing his discomfort when Frank prods at his wound. “I’m _fine_ , everything is so clear, Frank, I wish you could see it.”

Letting Matt go with a growl of frustration, Frank crouches by the headstone and watches him, unnerved, his heart pounding so loud in his chest it’s a wonder he can hear it and Matt so obviously _can’t._ “You can’t fuckin’ see anything, Red,” he grumbles, his hands twitching forward to grab at Matt as he lurches upward. “For fuck’s sake, sit _down_.”

“I can see _everything_ , Frank,” Matt says, dancing out of Frank’s reach and bumping into another headstone. His head is tilted up to the sky as he sways uneasily on his feet and Frank debates tackling him to the ground and tying him up to bring him home. “I can see the souls that linger here, their sins. Frank, I can see _God_.”

Yeah, that’s it. Frank debates the pros and cons of knocking Matt out – god knows what a head injury will do on top of whatever the fuck that scumbag “doctor” had stuck him with. He’s a little out of his depth here; hallucinogenics aren’t typically a weapon Frank encounters.

“God’s not…” Frank bites his lip and changes course. Probably best to not argue theology with a Catholic on some kind of acid trip. “You can’t see God, Matt, and ghosts ain’t real. You’re drugged; we need to get you home and sleep it off, yeah?”

Matt laughs, the sound eerie and haunting in the stillness of the cemetery. “He’s here, Frank,” he replies, the absolute certainty in his voice sending a chill up Frank’s spine. “He’s upset with us.”

“Yeah, well, we do a lot of shit He ain’t too fond of, that’s for sure.”

Stumbling forward, Matt makes a strangled noise and takes off, half jogging, half staggering toward whatever the fuck his drug-addled brain’s concocted. Frank swears under his breath and lurches to his feet, grunting as his bad knee takes his weight. He’s gonna knock the bastard out; the cemetery’s not too far off the street and anything Frank’ll do will be better than Matt running out in front of a moving vehicle in a search for God.

Matt comes to an unsteady stop in front of a simple cross headstone. He pulls his gloves off and casts them aside, his left arm moving stiffly as he runs his hands along the bar of the cross. “I’m here,” he murmurs, almost inaudible as Frank pauses a few feet away. “I’m listening. I’m always listening, you just never…”

The hairs on the back of Frank’s neck rise as Matt tilts his head. Carefully, he reaches for the Glock in his waistband, moving slowly in case Matt’s frayed senses somehow kick back in fully.

“All my life, I’ve tried to do what You wanted. I’ve done everything in my power to help people, to keep people safe, and still, You let these atrocities still happen,” Matt says, his hands clenching on the stone. He’s a little steadier on his feet now that he has something to brace against, but his body’s tensed like a livewire and Frank’s doubtful he’d be able to get the jump on him to knock him out like this.

Matt draws in a shuddering breath and Frank’s heart breaks. “All around me is death and suffering. Children murdered in their beds, in their schools; families torn apart. Nothing ever changes here, no matter how long I patrol, no matter how long I fight. What do You want from me?”

There’s nothing but silence, deafening and empty.

A choked sob escapes from Matt’s throat and he falls to his knees, held up by his arms draped over the cross. He bows his head, resting his helmet against the stone. “I’m tired, Frank,” he rasps after a moment, his body sagging over the cross.

Frank steps forward and lets his gun remain tucked into his waistband. Crouching next to Matt, he rubs a hand awkwardly over the back of his skull and sighs. “Yeah. Yeah, I know, Matt,” he says. Carefully, he reaches over to settle his hand at the small of Matt’s back and rubs in what he hopes is a soothing manner. “You wanna stay here a little longer? Let me bandage up your shoulder while you’re talking to the spirits?”

Matt hauls himself off the cross with a grunt of pain, blood glistening in the moonlight as it drips sluggishly out of his shoulder. The cross is spotted with it – an unnerving sight that sets off all Frank’s old Catholic superstitions. He takes a deep breath and sways into Frank’s space for a second before leaning heavily into his chest.

“Take me home, Frank. He doesn’t care about us anymore.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come yell at me on [tumblr!](http://feathers-and-cigarettes.tumblr.com)


End file.
